A Time of Turmoil

by N M Zoltack

  “Long ago, there had been three who rose above even the Fates,” the vicar said, his voice cracking with old age. “At least, so the stories said.”

  “You’re speaking of the dragons?” Vivian shook her head.

  “Three of them to rule over the humans because us humans can be so easily led astray. We are so susceptible to evil and our own desires. You cannot deny that.”

  “But dragons could understand our nature and be able to determine what was best for us?” Vivian waved her hand. “I do not believe it.”

  “Not many do. The dragons, if they did ever live, flew above us so many years ago that none living has seen one.”

  “Why are you telling me about the dragons?” Vivian asked, eager and interested.

  “Dreams,” he answers. “Dreams can be a very curious thing. Lately, I have been dreaming about dragons.”

  “Are all dreams important?” she asked.

  “Some are. Some aren’t. As for the ones that are, it can be nearly impossible to distinguish the meaning behind them until often it is too late.”

  “Why do you think you dream of the dragons?”

  “Because I am dying,” the vicar said.

  She gasped. “You are?”

  “You are as well. Every day that passes brings us one day closer to our deaths. Now, I am a great deal closer to my own than you are yours. The dragons are dead, and I fear I will be soon too.”

  Vivian curled her fingers into fists. “I don’t want anyone else to die.”

  “It must happen.”

  “I know.” She cast a glare toward Death.

  “Humans supposedly ended the dragons,” the vicar murmured.

  “If humans could do that, and the dragons lorded above even the Fates, then can’t we get rid of Death? Or if not Death then Chaos?”

  “All of the world is balance. You cannot have life without death, just as you cannot have peace without chaos.”

  “But peace is the absence of chaos, isn’t it?”

  “Without chaos, you cannot appreciate peace.”

  “That does not mean that chaos is necessary,” she protested.

  “One day, you will see. You will understand. Actually, this brings us back to your father rather nicely. Your father is a man of chaos now, don’t you think?”

  Vivian hesitated and then nodded. “I suppose so,” she said slowly.

  “That was not always the case. Your father was a champion of life. He did all he could for every last man. When he recognized the unrest the Li family was causing because they were not strong enough, he set down a path that would eventually lead to him becoming king. Along that blazing trail, he found and fell in love with your mother. Your father thought about stopping then and there. He only wished to marry her, to love her, to be with her.”

  “So why did he become king then?” Vivian swallowed hard. Her father had killed the Lis to establish peace. He had used death and chaos to forge peace. Perhaps the vicar was right about the balance of it all.

  “Your mother pushed him to. Not because she longed to be queen. Because she knew that your father was a great and noble man. She knew that he could keep all of Tenoch and the islands under his realm. You know this already. Had your father not done what he had, war would have resulted. Thousands would have been killed.

  Vivian did know this, and before, it had not bothered her in the least. Now, however, it did. Aldith’s death did not affect Vivian that terribly, but Bates’ had. She knew how vicious and awful death was. That the entire family had been killed meant that no one had mourned them. Had their bodies even been buried?

  “Before your father was crowned,” the vicar continued, “he sent food to several of the poorest families in Atlan. No one knew where the food was coming from. It was only years later that I learned this fact. Your father had his subjects’ best interests at heart even before they were his subjects.”

  The vicar then launched into numerous more stories about how great a man her father had once been. Vivian enjoyed each and every one of them, but tears formed in her eyes. The stories were wonderful, but they all saddened and depressed her.

  When the vicar finally stopped talking, Vivian thanked him and bid him adieu. It had been days since she had last seen her father, and she refused to allow the guards to turn her aside. She marched into her father’s quarters.

  He rested on his bed, but his eyes were open. When he saw her, he sighed and shifted slightly to one side as if he wished to roll over but could not because of his great girth.

  “Father, how are you feeling today?” she asked.

  “I was feeling just fine until you showed up,” he said crossly.

  She tapped her foot and placed her hands on her hips. He hated her, and she knew it. Honestly, she did not care. He had once been a great man. He could return to that again. Maybe then he would love her.

  “I was just speaking to the vicar,” she said. “He told me of some of your deeds from before I was born. Father, you used to be a most wonderful king. I know that you can be that same king again. Won’t you try to help your people once more?”

  “I have tried. The people have failed me. Why should I bother to continue to save them? Clearly, they do not appreciate my efforts, so why should I strive that much more?”

  “What efforts?” she asked.

  The king did not seem to hear her, or else he ignored her slight.

  “The tournament will be here soon,” she said. “You will watch the festivities, won’t you?”

  “I will not.”

  “You won’t?” She gaped at him. “But the tournament is in honor of your wedding!”

  “After you have been wed a second and a third time, you realize just how much of a farce weddings are.”

  “Isn’t there anything you are interested in?” she asked. Besides food.

  Her father stared at her but seemed to see through her. “Nothing,” he said flatly.

  “You need to get out of bed,” she said firmly. “If my mother could see you now, what would she think? What would she say?”

  Vivian stomped over to his side and yanked on his arm. She could not possibly force him to sit up, but she tried anyhow.

  Suddenly, her father patted her hand on his arm. She gasped in surprise at the expression on his face.

  He was staring at her as if she were the most beautiful woman in all of the world. He was looking at her as if he loved her with every part of him.

  “Rohesia,” he murmured as he cupped her face.

  And then, the King of Tenoch Proper started to cry great big giant tears that matched his size.

  33

  Sir Edmund Hill

  A week later, Edmund had switched duty with Jurian. Considering the knight hadn’t realized that there had been a female-run apothecary on the street, Jurian was more than willing to let Edmund take over.

  “Unless you want me to…” Jurian had held up his blade that he had been cleaning.

  Edmund had shook his head emphatically. He wasn’t about to have Tatum punished or even killed when she might not have committed a crime. Dudley believed in her, and until or unless he could prove otherwise, Edmund would not harm her.

  But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t watch her.

  There was always the marketplace for all kinds of stalls, but sometimes, shops were better suited for both the sellers and the buyers. Those shops were not within the marketplace proper but rather on the streets beyond, where the chaotic noises and the din of the marketplace could not reach them.

  Edmund could not count the number of servants he saw enter the millinery, sewers, and of course the Hill’s shoe store. There was a shop that specialized in boots a few doors down as well as stores from a carpenter, a fletcher and a bowyer, blacksmith, bronze smith, a potter and a cooper, and even a barber-surgeon.

  Not all of the stores were on this particular street, but Edmund watched over them all. There weren’t any problems, not that Edmund thought there would be. He slipped past his family’s store
hopefully before anyone could see him and then rushed down several streets until he reached the flower shop.

  The apothecary store nearby was tidy and orderly. It looked like any other store. The hanging wooden sign said Mermaid’s Tears. A beautiful mermaid with long, flowing hair covering her top half had been carved crying into a potion. The design was actually stunning but was so feminine and clearly related to alchemy that anyone and everyone who walked past had to realize a female alchemist was at work.

  Edmund walked past the shop, peeking inside. Tatum was inside, rearranging potions on a shelf. No one was inside. He came back four more times throughout that day and multiple times for the next few weeks.

  Whenever she interacted with customers, Tatum was nothing short of good, kind, and sweet, just like Dudley said she was. From everything Edmund witnessed, she was doing all she could to help her customers, as few as they were.

  One woman wanted a special potion that would help her husband’s hair to regrow. The wife thought him still handsome, but he was rather self-conscious about it, and she wanted to help him. Tatum had the woman come back the next day and gave her a potion. Two weeks later, a man with a head full of hair as black as Jurian’s entered the shop, wishing to thank Tatum for his hair.

  One boy entered, asking for courage. Edmund had to stifle a laugh, as most men thought of ale as liquid courage.

  Instead, Tatum handed him a thin green vial.

  “This is the Steel Siren,” Tatum said. “Drink this, and courage will fill you.”

  The boy reached for the vial, but Tatum lifted it out of reach.

  He lowered his head. “How much?”

  Tatum crouched down. “I would much rather ask you a question. May I?”

  The boy nodded. He had reddish-orange hair and a spattering of freckles all over his arms. His side profile was visible to Edmund through the glass window, and the side of his face also was covered in freckles. He looked a little nervous as he nodded.

  “Why do you need courage?” Tatum asked.

  He bit his lower lip and shuffled his bare feet.

  “You can tell me,” Tatum said softly.

  “Some kids…”

  “They aren’t the nicest to you?” Tatum asked.

  He nodded.

  “And why do you need courage?”

  “So I won’t just let them beat me up!”

  “You mean to fight back?” Tatum asked.

  The boy hesitated and then shook his head.

  Tatum lifted an eyebrow.

  “There are too many of them.”

  “You merely want courage to stand?” she asked.

  “Yes. Maybe… maybe they’ll stop then?”

  “You think that will be all you want?”

  “Maybe?”

  Tatum pursed her lips. “I will give this to you.”

  The boy’s face lit up.

  “But you will not use it to fight,” she said firmly. “Defending yourself is allowed, but to attack first…”

  “I understand,” the boy said. “My ma, when she was alive, she told me they were bullies. I don’t want to be like them. I just want them to stop.”

  “Your ma…” Tatum closed her eyes.

  “She died two days ago. The bullies have been worse, and I… I need…”

  “Take it.” Tatum handed him the potion.

  As with the husband, the boy returned only two days later. He gave the rest of the potion back to Tatum.

  She examined it. “You didn’t drink it.

  The boy grinned broadly as he shook his head. “Just having it in my pocket was enough. They hit me and knocked me down, but I stood back up, and I told them they could fight me, but I wasn’t going to back down. They left me alone! They didn’t come around yesterday at all!”

  “Sometimes, your own courage is all you need.” Tatum returned the potion to the shelf.

  Every customer she helped, giving them plenty of time and attention. Even more than her potions and elixirs, she listened to each and gave them advice.

  After another week of watching her, Edmund had enough. This time, he didn’t merely watch her through the window. He actually stepped inside.

  “Edmund,” Tatum said cautiously. “I was wondering if you would ever stop lurking outside.”

  He winced. “I was merely ensuring—”

  “That no one stole from me? That I didn’t trick or deceive my customers? That I didn’t poison anyone?”

  Edmund rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “That you weren’t—or that you were—the woman for my brother.”

  “Ah. And what have you concluded?”

  “That you seem to not be like female alchemists of the past.”

  “Throughout history, there have been good kings and bad ones, good knights and bad ones, good constables and bad ones. It is frankly insulting that anyone would believe that all female alchemists are, by default, evil.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Yet you still thought me a vile temptress.”

  Edmund winced. To cover his embarrassment, he walked over to the shelves lining the western wall and scanned the labels. “Bloodstone?”

  “There’s no blood in it,” she assured him, walking over. She picked up the thick ceramic rounded-bottom flask and uncorked it, tilting it so he could see the blood-colored liquid inside. “The hue comes from one of its ingredients, the leaves of the fryane plant. Bloodstone helps a person to center their mind and desires. It helps to allow them to see through the deceptions we build up so that we can clearly and truly see what we need, what we desire most.”

  Edmund furrowed his brow.

  “Yes, Dudley told me how you never stopped talking about wanting to be a knight from the moment you first saw one. Not everyone is as clear-minded as you. Some need help to see their true path. Unfortunately…” She corked the flask, returned it to its proper place, and walked away from him, shoulders slumped in sadness.

  “Unfortunately?” he prompted.

  “One man bought the bloodstone potion and drank it. He realized he loved another’s wife. The man… couldn’t handle that about himself, so he took his own life.”

  Edmund winced. She seemed to take the man’s suicide to heart. Tatum cared about her customers. It wasn’t just about making money to her. No, she wanted to help them through her elixirs.

  “What about this one?” Edmund asked, pointing to the Raven’s Message, more or less hoping to distract her.

  Tatum returned to his side. “Ah. That one is one that isn’t for sale.”

  “Why not?” he asked curiously.

  “Mostly because it’s a work in progress,” Tatum said, sounding frustrated. “In ages past, it was said that men could talk to animals. That skill has been lost, and this is my attempt to regain it. So far, it hasn’t worked any. Why I keep it on the shelf is a mystery.” She smiled wanly.

  “I spoke with Dudley.”

  Tatum stiffened. “Again?”

  “No. He mentioned that you wish to operate an inn.”

  Tatum’s smile became easier but not as wide or bright as the other occasions when she spoke of her love. “That is Dudley’s dream,” she admitted, “not mine, but I would do anything for him.”

  Edmund grinned. So far at least, Tatum appeared to be everything his brother believed her to be. While Edmund would continue to keep an eye on her, his guard was lowered. Hopefully, the Hills had nothing to worry or fear when it would come to their newest family member, whenever the marriage would take place.

  34

  Princess Rosalynne Rivera

  Rosalynne’s head was swimming. All the planning for the tournament and yet she was not nearly done. The matters of food and where people should stay and how many the castle could hold and so much more had been decided, but there was much and more that she had to look into yet.

  She was sitting at a table in one of the largest tea rooms in the castle with Vicar Albert Leeson and Advisor Aldus Perez. The vicar wasn’t strictly needed, but Rosalynne f
elt better if there were more helping her rather than less, and she wasn’t about to ask Sabine for help. As for Noll, he would be of no help, and Vivian? She had no interest in the tourney except to watch all of the knights and to cheer them all.

  “I have already sent word to all of the major cities within Tenoch,” Rosalynne said.

  She brushed some of her hair back. She had been so busy lately that she didn’t have time to sit still for as long as it would take for her maid to fashion Rosalynne’s hair onto her head. As such, strands would fall out all the more as the day would near its end. Nearly half of her hair had fallen already, and she wasn’t about to waste the time to repin the locks herself.

  “Very well,” the vicar said.

  “Should I invite anyone from Vincana?” she asked.

  “What are your initial thoughts?” the vicar asked her.

  He often did that, answer her question with a question of his own. Honestly, it infuriated her. She glanced at the advisor, but he was sitting back in his seat and did not seem eager to share his own views on the matter.

  Rosalynne sighed. “I am leaning toward no because the monsoon season is nearing. I would feel terrible if they could not cross safely to Tenoch.”

  “Is that the only reason?” the vicar pressed.

  The princess shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “They are so very militant. They are so strict with their training, and they could very well win every competition. It would be a very poor showing if someone from Tenoch does not win. It’s bad enough that the prince will not win.”

  She sighed wearily. Noll was a prince, and she loved him, but he could not even enter. He could not joust. He could not use a sword. He could not handle a spear. He could not do any number of things. Perhaps they had been wrong to never allow him any weaponry training, but that had not been Rosalynne’s decision to make, and it was far too late for that. The last time there had been a tournament had been nearly a decade ago, and Noll had been far too young for anyone to notice his lack of participation. Now, people would notice and question. So far, they had done their level best to prevent the people from learning that the prince was a little delayed, but it was beyond clear to Rosalynne that the prince would never act his age. Regardless, she loved and accepted him, but the people might not be so forgiving.